


Jefferson v. James

by aureliu_s



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: F/M, Old Writing, weird descriptions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 03:32:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11394489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aureliu_s/pseuds/aureliu_s
Summary: (The last of the old work bingepost.) When Maria's boss, James Reynolds, gets a hold of her, he doesn't let go until he wants to. It's at times like these Maria finds herself thinking of her real lover, comparing all his movements and motions to James', comforting herself while the atrocities ensue.





	Jefferson v. James

**Author's Note:**

> RAPE AND NON-CON MENTIONED ISH. DO NOT LIKE, DO NOT READ. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

She didn't like James' hands. They were always sweaty and clammy, unnaturally soft, like he hasn't worked a day in his life. His fingers were thick and his nails awkwardly short. His palms were fat and small. They felt awkward across her body.

Thomas's weren't.   
His hands were strong and large, but gentle. His fingers were slender and long, easily to glide through her hair. Sweat didn't run through his hands like rivers, and his palms were soft as a baby's head. There was individual callouses, small but still there. One against the first knuckle of his right middle finger, two more at the base of his fingers on his left hand. From working, writing, a plethora of things. His hands were comfortingly familiar with her body, and he knew just what to do with them. He knew what she liked and what she didn't like, he knew what she wanted him to do and did not want him to do.

 

Unfortunately, James didn't stop. He whispered mean, threatening, uncomfortable things in her ears. His lips were too thin for his face, and red from years of being chapped and cracked dry. He wetted his lips in the most unsettling manner, his tongue flicking in and out in a matter of milliseconds and he did this a few times until he was satisfied. His teeth looked fake, too white, to straight, too square.

Thomas's weren't.   
He whispered sweet, loving, encouraging, sexy things to her. And he purred. He didn't just murmur or breathe, he purred, lowering his voice both in pitch and volume, whatever he was saying to her coming out fluidly on his breath. His lips were light pink, plump, soft, easy and enjoyable to kiss and touch. They contrasted brightly against his darker tan skin color, but it looked right. The way he wore his facial hair was pleasing to the eye, possibly because it gave him a very much completed look, or because it suited his bone structure, or possibly because he shaved it perfectly to such a sharp edge.

  
James was quick to roughly pry open her closed legs, pulling on her skin a little, and lower himself between her thighs. He wasn't obese, but he wasn't skinny either, and he put all his weight against Maria, which sometimes made her cry out when he leaned against bruises from last time. For that, her slapped her. She was too small for that, but when she tried to tell him, he ignored it and called her weak. His chest hair was annoying and scratched against her, and when holding himself because too much of a chore, he simply let himself fall. When she dragged her nails down his chest, he yelled at her and hit her. She didn't even do it that hard, but he made her apologize through humiliation. His skin was sticky, and he sweat constantly and profusely. His shoulders were round and his skin freckled with ghosts of cuts and adolescent acne.

Thomas's wasn't.   
When his rough but soft hands slid gently down her thighs, slowly urging her knees apart a little, just enough so he could let himself rest easily above her, she wanted it to happen. She wrapped her legs voluntarily around him, and he loved it when her nails scratched down his chest. He wasn't ripped, but he was muscular, and every abdominal muscle was defined perfectly, as were his pectorals, his biceps, his triceps, the muscles in his lower back and his shoulders. His body was lean and toned to perfection, perfection for his body type and not what society called perfection. He accepted that she was small beneath him, and he was careful of that, sometimes he joked and teased but he acknowledged their size difference. She didn't mind his chest hair. He didn't sweat rivers, it only beaded on his forehead after a long night. His skin was soft and smooth, and he was probably the kid who had barely any acne at all throughout middle school and high school. He only let himself collapse on top of her if she was ready for it, expecting it. Even then, he did it with care.

 

James' legs were thick and round, and there was really nothing for her to hold. His member was small, and this made it awkward for her in ways she couldn't explain. James often teased her sadistically for stretching herself too much when he shoved his fingers inside her, but she bit back the fact that she was used to Thomas, and refrained from starting a dick-measuring competition. When she scratched her nails up his back, he would scream at her and say she wouldn't get paid for the week if she did it again. His back was flat and boring anyway, and she didn't want to touch it. He pulled her hair tightly, curling his entire fist into it, yanking. This made her cry out, but when she did, he assumed it was in pleasure so he kept doing it. He never listened. She was humiliated into calling him "sir", and on nights where he was drunk, "Papa", or any variation of it. His thighs were thick and slapped oddly against her skin.

Thomas's weren't.   
In a sense, his thighs were thick--to a degree, though. He was an avid runner, having ran track and cross country for the last ten years of his life. Thick with rock hard muscle, well-earned muscle. Muscle that she didn't mind feeling it flex against her. His hips were easy to grab, because they were defined and stuck out to her hands. Compared to James, he seemed a monster. But he wasn't. He was just thicker, longer, and for Maria, easier to get used to. When and if he pressed his fingers into her, he did so experimentally and fluidly, not lingering on slowness which would cause her pain. He loved the feeling of her nails over his back, not caring if she left angry, screaming red marks that sometimes were enough to draw a little blood. His back was just as chiseled as his torso. He wasn't a hair-puller, either. He allowed her to tug his hair lightly, often wincing when she did so too hard, but he didn't pull hers. He stroked it, danced his fingers through her locks, and sometimes his fists tightened in it but he still didn't pull it. She called him "sir" and "daddy" voluntarily, and that drove him insane, but he still took care of her.

  
James wasn't always up for round two. In fact, he rarely was, and he squeezed her breasts too hard for comfort, so when he did want to keep on her, she was doomed and in pain.

Thomas didn't care what happened. He once told her, stroking her hair while she snuggled into his chest on an autumn midnight: "I'd go to round five if you wanted it." And he never squeezed her breasts too tight. If he did, then he would kiss her chest and apologize, rub them lightly.

 

James slapped her ass unwillingly. He did it hard and multiple times so that it stung. When he wanted to be sucked, he complained that using her tongue was uncomfortable, and that she wasn't allowed to do it. James forced her head down on him, laughing or scolding when she choked and had to pull away coughing, red in the face.

Thomas didn't needlessly hit her ass. Out of the all the nights they'd spent together, he'd done it maybe three times. And three was pushing it. He wasn't big on spanking, even if he was extremely kinky. He would give her small, loving grabs instead, sinking his fingers into her soft flesh. He did this behind closed doors and discreetly in public, which made her blush and giggle but she loved it all the same. In contrast, he loved her tongue sliding against him, moving around him. He had confessed his love for her mouth many times, and when she knelt down and put her head between his thighs, he was hurdled into mass waves of pleasure. And he didn't push or pull. He knew she took in as much as he could, but even staying at the tip made him whimper, so he didn't care.

 

And she kept these two, one a living hell and another heavenly pleasure, separate and secret from each other. Thomas didn't know what her boss did to her--she was scared he'd go on a violent rampage if he did. Likewise, her boss didn't know about Thomas, again because she was scared of him tracking her beloved Jefferson down and hurting him.

She kept these realities separate, and every time James crawled away, flinging her clothes aimlessly at her as she let hot tears fall down her face, she curled up and whined and cried for Thomas, feeling disgusting and violated, trying to think of what he would say.

She kept them separate, her lover and her hater, until one night when they mixed. She had taken to imagining Thomas above her when it was really James. Imagining him apologizing for everything James did in her ear, imagined him purring his soft words to her. And then, when she was supposed to cry out, "James!", instead of being humiliated and disgusted, she was terrified.   
James lifted his head, eyeing her. He slapped her, he asked her who he was, he beat an answer from her small and shaking body, and when Maria told him his eyes lit up in fury.

Instead of "James", the name that had escaped her lips in a broken cry was "Thomas".

 


End file.
